


Day Eighteen: A Tale of Poetry and Time Travel

by Elril_Silverstar



Series: Elril Does Writer's Month: August 2019 [18]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossover, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, So Wrong It's Right, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, What Have I Done, Why Did I Write This?, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elril_Silverstar/pseuds/Elril_Silverstar
Summary: “I’m the Doctor! And this is Martha, say hello Martha.” He said cheerfully, striding up to Crowley until they were almost nose to nose.





	Day Eighteen: A Tale of Poetry and Time Travel

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is very much unfinished, it started to give me ideas and wants to be much longer, but I need to sleep.  
This will be updated and expanded.

It had all started because he had been feeling sullen Crowley reflected. Aziraphale had left for Scotland and the sullenness had crept in. The thought that this feeling was connected with Aziraphale’s absence was one he had carefully tucked away and tried not to look at. 

He also made it a point to go to every performance of Hamlet, he detested the play but he’d made it a smashing success for Aziraphale. So he slunk through the stage door to whisper helpful things to the actors. Things such as “Be a real shame if you forgot your lines, remember not to trip over your feet.”

Shakespear did not approve of people that slunk about trying to put his actors off, but he did approve of this lanky, scarlet haired man. Found him very interesting actually. So when Crowley slipped in through the stage door he would drag him away from the actors saying something akin to: 

“Well met my scarlet friend! Come, leave these good people in peace! Let me show you the sonnet I’ve been writing.” He would then take this intriguing man by the arm and haul him into a back room where he would ply him with wine and poetry. It suited both of them rather well. 

One such occasion found them seated as usual, Crowley lounging languidly sipping his wine while Shakespear read the beginning of a poem he was working on. Suddenly the door burst open and a Very Strange Man came skidding into the room, closely followed by a Very Strange Women. 

“Hah! See Martha? I _ told you _ he was real.” The Very Strange Man said excitedly to his companion. 

Being slightly tipsy Crowley sized up this Strange Man slowly, he had a brown coat and wore something blue and pinstriped that Crowley supposed might be called a suit. It was either _ very _ stylish or _ extremely _ ugly or perhaps both, he wasn’t sure. 

However when his eyes reached the man’s face he froze, mouth falling open in shock. He very quickly sobered up. It did not improve the situation. The man had his face, less lined with care and worry perhaps, but still it was his face. Except, the eyes were wrong, not slitted and yellow, but warm, brown, and _ human _ instead. 

Crowley stood in a way he hoped was menacing (it wasn’t), “of courssse I’m real, who are you?” 

“I’m the Doctor! And this is Martha, say hello Martha.” He said cheerfully, striding up to Crowley until they were almost nose to nose. Then raising a hand he hooked a finger over the bridge of Crowley’s glasses and slid them down his face.

“Oh yes, I knew it! Not human!” The Doctor exclaimed as brown eyes met startled yellow ones. 

Crowley, who was starting to be annoyed as well as startled gave a sniff “No I’m not human.” He gave another sniff and smiled slyly, “But neither are you.” 

The Doctor’s face glowed with excitement, “Oh that’s very good, you’re right of course. I’m a Time Lord! You?” 

“Demon.” Crowley considered stepping back, but didn’t.

“A demon? Like with a pitchfork?” 

“We don’t actually use pitchforks, that’s just bad PR.”


End file.
